


Comfort

by DeCarabas



Series: Fugitives Together [32]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders is Alive and Well, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7239079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeCarabas/pseuds/DeCarabas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first night after Kirkwall. For the prompt "when words aren't enough."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

The flight from Kirkwall is eerily silent, scattered conversations in low voices and soon trailing off, and Hawke wishes Varric would complain about being dragged into the outdoors, or the slope of the mountain path, or the cave they finally decide to stop in for the night, what little night is left. They split into groups to check for spiders or other potential rude awakenings, and though Hawke’s about ready to fall over, Anders shows no sign of flagging, striking out down a passage alone. Hawke has to scramble to keep up.

Anders pulls a wisp out of the air to light the path, and the wavering light is comfortingly familiar. Late nights sitting up reading under that light, the quiet thrill of finally feeling free to use magic openly in his own home; magic as something small and casual. Harmless.

The wisp widens its circle to include Hawke, dancing in front of his eyes, and he waves it out of the way, sends it veering wildly across the dead end cavern. No sign of anything more threatening than some glowing lichen. 

And Anders finally turns to look at him as the wisp clumsily makes its way back to its summoner, and under that faint light he’s pale and fragile and all Hawke can think is, _You thought you were going to die. All this time, you thought you were going to die, and I didn’t know._

When he reaches for Anders, the pressure of the Fade boils against his skin, spilling over, eager, and despite how Anders looks he feels unbreakable, feels like the same force of nature he was in front of the chantry—and so many people saw him like that, saw him as Justice, and the templars who hunt them won’t just be hunting him as maleficar, they’ll hunt him as if he’s a demon, and Hawke’s grip is too tight and Anders’ eyes are startled as Hawke hauls him in, buries his face against his skin, the familiar tug of stubble against his lips.

“I thought—”

“Don’t,” Hawke mumbles. “I’ll be angry tomorrow. Just… be here with me.”

If he hadn’t gone to the Gallows today, if he hadn’t been there at just that moment, if Anders had confronted Meredith and Orsino alone, if, if, if—

His fingers find the buckles of Anders’ coat, slide over the thin fabric of his shirt, needing to feel the rise and fall of his ribs, to feel Anders’ pulse under his lips. And Anders’ hands hover, uncertain, skating over his sides until Hawke takes hold of them, plants them firmly. 

“Don’t let go.”

“Ever?”

“Never. Don’t you dare.”

A cautious smile, eyes wide. “Well, that could cause some difficulties later, but I’m sure—”

He cuts Anders off, a graze of lips, tentative, and the Fade bursts around him so strong and palpable he doesn’t understand how Anders isn’t glowing. And then Anders makes a choked sound in two voices and throws himself into it all at once, fingers tangling in Hawke’s hair, holding onto him with desperate breathless intensity. 

When they pull away, the wisp light has vanished.

Hawke holds him there in the dark, leaning unsteadily against the cavern wall. And when he pulls Anders in again, it’s unhesitant, unhurried, fingers gentle and sure. Neither of them are going anywhere.


End file.
